Chapter 3 - The Price of Redemption
The medic was a quiet, professional older man named Dr. Evans who arrived within ten minutes carrying a heavy metal case. He worked with practiced efficiency, cleaning the jagged bullet graze across Victor’s shoulder, stitching the torn flesh without using local anesthesia, while Victor sat like a statue carved from granite, his eyes fixed on me the entire time.
I sat on a wooden chair by the fireplace, my hands resting in my lap, feeling like a ghost haunting a room she didn't belong in.
When Dr. Evans packed his gear and left the study, Paul stepped back inside, holding a thick, leather-bound ledger with gold-embossed lettering on the cover. He placed it carefully on the mahogany desk before retreating silently toward the doors, closing them with a soft click that echoed loudly in the cavernous room.
Victor stood up from the sofa. Despite the blood loss and the fresh stitches pulling at his shoulder, he moved with the predatory grace of a panther. He walked over to the desk, picked up a heavy gold fountain pen, and flipped the ledger open to a page marked with red ink.
Miller, Liam. Principal: $25,000. Interest accrued: $12,400. Total Balance: $37,400.
My stomach churned. Thirty-seven thousand dollars. At my current wage of fifty dollars a day—minus room, board, and supply deductions—I would be eighty years old before I paid that off.
Victor looked up from the ledger, his slate eyes locking onto mine.
"Your brother is an idiot," Victor stated flatly. "He tried to flee to Atlantic City yesterday afternoon to chase his losses again. My men intercepted him at the train station before he could cross the county line."
My heart leaped into my throat, choking off my breath. "You... you caught him? Where is he? What did you do to him?"
"He's currently tied to a chair in my basement, contemplating the fragility of his kneecaps," Victor said casually, uncapping the gold pen.
I stood up so fast my chair tipped backward, crashing loudly against the hardwood floor. "Please! Don't touch him! Take me instead! Do whatever you want to me, just let him go—"
"Sit down, Alice," Victor snapped, his voice cracking like a whip.
I froze, my legs trembling so violently I thought I would collapse.
Victor didn't look angry; he looked intensely, unnervingly focused. He pulled the gold pen across the ledger page, drawing a thick, bold line right through Liam’s name and the entire balance column.
I stared at the page, my brain failing to process what I was seeing.
"The debt is cleared," Victor said quietly.
The silence in the room became absolute. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, counting off seconds that felt stretched thin as wire.
"Cleared?" I whispered, my voice shaking. "What do you mean, cleared? You don't just write off thirty-seven thousand dollars. What's the catch? What do you want from me?"
Victor rounded the desk, stepping closer to me. Up close, he towered over me, his presence casting a heavy, inescapable shadow. Yet, for all his intimidating aura, there was no malice in his eyes—only an intense, calculating curiosity.
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"The catch," Victor said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum, "is that you are no longer a maid, Alice."
Before I could ask what that meant, the heavy doors swung open again, and Paul walked in—carrying not a mop or a bucket of bleach, but a sleek, high-end garment bag and a stack of legal documents.
